Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(103)

“You won’t lose your head,” Wren said with more certainty than she felt. She was staring at his helmet, which he’d removed and rested against their packs.

“No—it’s not that.” He frowned, expression thoughtful. “We can’t take him to the Breachfort, Wren.”

She’d been expecting this from the moment they’d set out together. But after the regent had been exposed, she’d thought he might see reason.

“We need to report”—she waved a hand—“all this. We can’t fight them by ourselves.”

Julian tilted his head at her. “What happened to the girl who was convinced we could cross the Breach and rescue a kidnapped prince all on our own?”

“This is different,” she said defensively. He sounded disappointed in her, and she hated how much she cared about that.

“How?” he demanded.

“Back then I thought I knew everything there was to know about the undead. I have since been proven wrong—repeatedly. We’re in over our heads. The Breachfort will help us.”

Julian stared broodingly into the fire. “I’m not so sure they will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not only are they the same people who have refused to help us Breachsiders for the past two decades, but I think you’re forgetting how this all started.”

“I believe it started when you attacked the Wall and kidnapped a prince?”

“It started before that, Wren. We were tipped off. Didn’t you ever wonder how we turned up out of nowhere, perfectly positioned to kidnap him? We were told exactly where to be and when.”

Wren did recall some strange details from that day—the blockage on the road, for starters, and the way she had so easily gotten the prince alone. “You’re saying there’s an informant?”

Julian nodded. “Inside the prince’s own retinue. He won’t be safe there.”

Wren looked down at Leo, then back up at Julian. “What would you suggest, then?” she asked warily.

“I say we circle back north,” he replied, speaking carefully. “They’ll assume we’re riding to the Breachfort, won’t they? So heading in the opposite direction will be the last thing they’ll expect.”

“North,” Wren said flatly. “You mean, toward the Iron Citadel?”

“No,” he said hurriedly. “Just somewhere we can lie low and stay safe until the regent stops his search.”

“And where would that be?”

“We could use my mother’s family estate. It’s currently unoccupied except for a few servants. We could regroup, rest, and figure out our next move.”

“A family estate? Surely they’ll look for you there.”

“My people will protect us.”

“Your people? Wasn’t the regent one of ‘your people’ up until yesterday? And what about Captain Royce before that? You’re asking me to put trust in the people who caused this mess in the first place.”

He tugged at his breastplate in agitation. “No, I’m asking you to put trust in me. You’ve done it before.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Wren said, ignoring the twinge in her stomach at the memory of their time at the Breach. “No way am I taking Leo anywhere near ‘your people.’ ”

His nostrils flared. “Is this still about you and your golden prize? Your stupid mission to prove yourself? You already have, Wren! If they don’t see that, that’s on them.”

Wren looked down, struggling to hide the emotion she felt at his words. He made it sound so easy. Like what others thought of her didn’t matter. And she wanted it to be true… but it wasn’t. It did matter. It was how she’d lost Ghostbane and wound up banished from her home.

But it was also how she’d wound up here, with him.

“Look,” he continued, “all I’m saying is, if we hand the prince over to the Breachfort, then we did all this for nothing. You said you care about him. But if you bring him back there, you plainly only care about yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Wren spat.

Julian bit down on a retort, glowering into the flames. Wren did the same.

She did care about Leo. She wanted him safe, and surely the Breachfort was safer than anywhere east of the Wall, even with a spy in their midst? Wren would just stick close to Leo’s side until… until he was shipped off somewhere else and she was forced to remain behind? And Julian… Who knew what would become of Julian at the fort.

But Wren would have pulled off the impossible. She would be praised. Rewarded. What that would mean, she couldn’t know for certain, but she had to try, didn’t she?

“It’s more than that,” Julian said, his voice quiet but fervent. “We’re not finished here. Those iron revenants, the undead… There’s more work to do in the Haunted Territory. We make a good team.”

“A good team?” Wren repeated, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you said we were a ‘bad idea’?”

“Aren’t we?” he said, meeting her gaze.

Wren shrugged, going for indifference. “Maybe I like bad ideas.”

He looked away. He appeared frustrated, like he was fighting some internal battle with himself. “It’s not—this can’t end well. For either of us.”